


Poof, Magic!

by navyhurricane



Series: Dean's Angel of Death Adventures [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angel of Death Reader, F/M, Ghosts, Spells & Enchantments, angel reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9851069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navyhurricane/pseuds/navyhurricane
Summary: (Y/n) needs to find a way to hide her wings from normal people. Bobby calls an old friend who is a witch, but just so happens to have a way to hide her wings from those she doesn't want to see them.-Set in any season that has Dean, Sam, Bobby and Castiel-





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is such a long one shotXP but that's okay cuz you guys will hopefully enjoy it!!!XJ

   You didn't mind having freedom of your wings. Castiel was fine, Sam was fascinated, and Dean loved them. It wasn't odd for the eldest brother to run his fingertips over the red and black feathers whenever he brushed past you, behind you, or beside you. He would tug playfully on a feather to get your attention, and then soothe the softness with his hand, rubbing slowly. He would find clothes that had loose or no backs just so you wouldn't have to wrap the limbs and shove them under a baggy shirt. It was amazing, but you honestly couldn't tell if it was Dean's carefree touches or the unbound feeling.

   However, it got boring whenever the boys left you in the hotel room, dressed in suits and ready for some interviewing during their hunts. You got by by researching, watching TV and the odd call from them updating you on any input. Castiel would sometimes drop in, awkwardly standing in the room with his hands by his sides and not making eye contact with you. You understood. His type of Angel cured people, while you killed. 

   Not that you could anymore. With your Grace gone and Death nowhere near to replenish it, you were basically human, minus the facts you could draw from ashes and you had wings.

   Speaking of ashes, you had totally freaked Sam out when you mentioned somebody had died in this very motel room. Currently, you sit on the mustard yellow bed covers, right in front of the ash. Dean and Sam went out a bit ago, suited up. Literally.

   "Hello," you murmur. The ash squirms up from the blue shag carpet, settling maybe two feet above the ground in a deep grey ball of soft energy. In total, the mass can't be bigger than your fist and due to the faded edges, is over seventy years old.

   "Who are you?" Your mumble is accompanied by you reaching out and brushing the ash with your fingertips. 

    _Raya_.

   You feel your lips twitch. "How old are you, Raya?"

    _Nine_.

   "Can you show for me?"

   Before the words finish leaving your mouth, the grey ball expands into the form of a small girl.

   Her hair is curly, the colour a mix between brown and red. Her headband is a bright pink ribbon, matching to her dress, which reaches the middle of her white stocking clad shins. You know frills are set just above her knees, and that the skirt of the dress is light and soft. It's sleeveless, and patterned with pale pink little flowers. The ribbon around her waist is thick and red, smooth along the front and ends in a large bow at the back. Her black shoes have a silver clasp, and are shiny.

   Her baby blue eyes meet yours, and you see that the pupils are the same colour grey as her original shape.

   You reach a hand out, and brush it along her fingers. Your solid ones slip right through, but you catch Raya smile at the gesture.

   "It's very nice to meet you, Raya. My name is (Y/n). The boys who were here are Sam and Dean. They're friendly." You assume the girl died with some sort of sickness, seeing as she's unharmed physically.

    _You're an angel_.

   You lift a corner of your mouth at her sadly. "I am. Just not the kind you would like."

    _What do you mean?_

   You spread one of your wings, showing the red and black underside. They have long healed, and have returned to being glossy and as beautiful as they can be. "I don't belong in Heaven," you whisper to the ash, "I don't belong with other Angels."

   Raya frowns, and you see her try and set her other hand on your face. It feels like the slightest breeze against your cheek, and you sigh, content. Docile ashes always have some sort of comfort to offer, while malicious ones are almost as bad as poltergeists or vengeful spirits; they just can't form the way a ghost can. 

    _Momma said all kind girls have a chance to be an angel. She didn't say what kind, so really, you are still an angel._

   You smile at her, and feel a slight pang of sorrow as her form flickers. She's fading. 

   You cradle her face the best you can in your hands, and lean your forehead into hers. "Raya, in my role as the Last Angel of Death, I allow you to pass into the upper lands. Be free and join those who care. Good luck." You exhale your words into her skin, and soon her form flickers into nothing. Although your Grace is gone, you can still help ashes and spirits along. The last thing you see are her blue eyes, staring largely at you. 

    _Thank you, angel_...

 

            ~Time Skip~

 

   You groan in exasperation just as the door to the new motel room closes. The brothers just went out to salt and burn the bones of that woman haunting the town hall, leaving you yet again. 

   The dingy creme of the walls is dirty, and you stare at it hard whilst sitting on the gross mustard bed sheets. 

   You make it about three seconds before dashing across the room and picking up a silver cell phone. You dial Bobby's number, and wait for him to pick up. It takes two rings, and his gruff voice fills the phone.

   "What?"

   "Do you know of any spells that can hide my wings?" 

   The call goes silent. You feel the metal biting into your hand, you squeeze the phone much too tight. This is the first time you've used a phone without supervision, seeing as last time you called some sort of salon while failing at dialling Sam's number. So far, it was going well.

   "I thought with the bond thing, you would be against spells."

   You grit your teeth. "I just want to hide my wings!" Bobby must sense the desperation in your voice, because your head shuffling and pages flipping. Seconds tick by, and you feel the need to pace the room instead of glaring at the ugly wall. 

   "Got it: a witch in Utah. She owes me. I'll give her a heads up you're coming." You feel like collapsing in relief. Maybe now you can actually walk outside in the public, and not in the middle of the night. Maybe you don't have to wait in the backseat of the Impala while Sam or Dean grabs food from some burger joint.

   "Thank you, Bobby."

 

            ~Time Skip~

 

   It takes a little convincing to get Dean to drive you to Utah. He's skeptical for good reason, but you managed to compromise with him: you'll owe him one after. Anything he wants, you'll do for him. You didn't understand the dirtier meaning of it, the one Sam and Dean definitely got, due to the younger brother chortling and the olders red cheeks.

   You lean your arms on the front seat, elbows hooked over the leather. Sam is asleep in the passenger seat, and Dean has one hand comfortably on the steering wheel. He took his jacket off a bit ago, tan forearms peeking out underneath the flannel layers of shirts he has on. His watch is dark against his skin, as you see the odd vein here or there.

   The headlights of the Impala shine bright into the road ahead, but the rest of the car is dark. The outside is pitch black, and you can see the odd star dotting the sky. The moon is stuck behind some clouds somewhere.

   Your wings are relaxed against your spine, set so that the longest feathers brush the floor gently. The rock of the vehicle makes them dig into the carpet, jarring the end into your skin. You bite down little gasps of pain, choosing to rest your head in your arms. The purr of the engine lulls you to sleep.

   Dean glances over his shoulder at you, eyes running down your bare shoulders in that maroon cut off tank. You didn't seem to get too cold, and you always had his old leather jackets he grew out of. He knows you're wearing those black skintight leggings, the ones that shape your ass just right. They bunch up a bit at your ankles, just cuz you aren't tall enough for them. Dean knows that you're wearing those maroon coloured sneakers from the first time you met, and that that little gold hoop in your ear is what binds you to him, forever. He's kind of ashamed that he finds that idea hot.

   Your (h/c) locks tumble down your arm and brush his shoulder, making Dean shiver. A bump in the road makes you slip closer to him, and he feels your soft breaths on his neck. Your hand is set on his bicep, fingers curling around the muscle so you can snuggle closer. Well, as close as you can from the backseat. 

   Your head slides across your arms, and you shift in your sleep so your forehead is leaning on his shoulder. Dean's breath hitches as he swerves a little, surprised by the sudden change of movement. 

   A large pothole appears under the tires, and you groan as the car bounces hard. Your hand on Dean's arm slides down his chest, fingertips curling near his belt. Your head changes angles, and you end up breathing directly across Dean's spine. 

   He can't stop the tightening of his hands on the steering wheel, just like the subtle tightening in his jeans.

   He groans softly; this is gonna be a long ride.

 

            ~Time Skip~

 

   Awkwardly, you pull the baggy shirt over your head and tuck your wings into the back. One of Dean's old leather jackets is yanked over that, and you somehow get your wings to lay flat against your back. It's uncomfortable, and you hate the binding feel of feathers pressed hard against skin, but you can deal with it for the minutes it takes to walk across the street. 

   You had woken up in the same place you fell asleep; Sam was driving and Dean was passed out against the window. Sam didn't realize you were awake yet, so you took the time to study Sleeping Dean. Obviously, you got caught when the sun came up, but Sam just laughed it off.

   Now, you shift constantly as you walk the short distance across the empty road, heading for the deep brown door with the large window. The siding is a dull grey colour, and the roof is the same colour as the door. There's no sign, no decorations or anything to give the little shop something unique. The door has an old fashioned knocker, shaped so it looks like a head of a predator bird with the solid ring in its beak. You identify the bird as an eagle.

   Dean and Sam follow behind you, hands drifting near their guns just in case. Their eyes were scoping the area out, but it's not like there was much to see: closed up buildings with the windows boarded, papers billowing in the wind across a cracked pavement street that has more potholes than solid road, no car except the Impala in sight, no birds in the scarce amount of trees. There's only one row of buildings, and you suspect any houses are behind it. You doubt anybody's living in them; this place is the description of a ghost town, right down the the ghosts.

   You can sense an unsettling amount of ashes here, floating between metal benches and the half-assed patched cracks in the road. Once, one of them shaped into the stature of a tall man, dressed in a long overcoat and a long beard. You level your gaze at the gaping hole in his chest, as big as a bowling ball and showing what's left of his insides. You look away quickly when he shifts, and a broken rib snaps into view.

   Wrapping your hand around the large Metal ring, you slam it three times against the door. The echo is extremely loud in the silent air, and all three of you hold your breath.

   Two seconds later, the door opens, revealing a young woman with red wildly curly hair. Her black rimmed glasses frame large green eyes, and her entire face is covered in freckles. Her dark grey shirt is plain, and her acid washed jeans are frayed all the way down her legs, with only a few thin strands of denim keeping her pant legs from exploding. She would look normal, except for the insane amount of pendants, amulets, rings, bracelets, piercings and earrings she has dangling from all available areas of her body. She even has tassels hanging from her glasses.

   "Remilda?" You watch as the woman's eyes widen with the name.

   "Just Remy, actually. Who're you?"

   You nervously glance back at Dean for assurance, and he nods you on. "I am (Y/n), and these are the Winchesters...?" Green eyes slide behind you, and you see them narrow slightly in a...seductive way?

   "Bobby sent you?" 

   You nod, and she lets you in the building. You can't hold back a chuckle when Sam has to duck under the doorframe.

   When you see the interior, you gasp. The buildings beside it are all part each other, like one long mansion. The smell of smoke and herbs is calming, and while the walls are all a dark wood brown, the area is very well lit. The lights are small circles implanted in the ceiling, and you eye the vast amount of shelves that all contain at least three jars or five books each, every cover or container holding something different. There's a fireplace directly across from the door, and two open areas where doors should be on either side of the walls. You suspect that more of the witchy items are in them.

   Remy stares you down, making you fidget. Already uncomfortable with the situation of your wings, you hate the feeling of being studied, scrutinized and judged. You look at the floor, cheeks burning with shame for some ungodly reason. Is it because a stranger is going to have to look at your wings? But Sam and Dean were strangers, right? But they saved you, and they let you stay, and you really hope Dean isn't faking it when he says he likes your wings-

   "Hey, it's okay." You are jerked back to reality when a hand lands on your waist, pressing firm against your borrowed shirt. The heat from Dean's hand seeks right through the thin fabric, and you hold back a shiver. Nodding at the floor, you bring your gaze up to meet Remy's.

   She smirks. "Well, little angel. Pull 'em out." 

   You frown deeply, narrowing your gaze at her. "I am not a 'little angel'. I held more power than you could imagine." Your voice is calm, but carries an undertone of extreme irritation. Dean and Sam both know that if they don't get it under control, every plant in a mile radius will die. They learned that the hard way, and Cas had to replenish the poor plants that suffered your wrath. You had scoffed after it happened, saying that it was only a inkling of what could've happened. Knowing you aren't one to lie, they didn't test it again.

   "You sure? Cuz you're sure as hell shorter than me." It's true, and it makes your wings shudder, offended. Sadly, much of your emotion is conveyed in your wings, making it hard to hide your feelings. If this damn witch would help already...

   "Okay, ladies, let's get to business." Dean chuckles nervously, and steps in between the feuding females. He catches you relax when he enters your line of sight, and feels his chest warm.

   You huff, sending an icy glare at the witch and manage to slip the leather jacket off. The t-shirt is next, leaving you slightly chilled in only a black racer back sports bra. The front is a solid colour, while the back starting at the sides of the bra and the straps on the tops of your shoulders turn into a mesh. It all connects in the back as a thin strap, perfect to fit in between your wings.

   Your half nakedness bothers you, as you were raised to be modest beyond measures and proper. You tap your toe on the floorboards behind your other leg, rub your arms, look at anything but the three others in the room and use your wings as a shield, covering your upper half well. The red and black feathers brush over your head, creating a cocoon with leggings and maroon sneakers. The conversation continues without you, while you just listen silently.

   "Damn. So you want her to be able to hide these?"

   "Yeah, that's the idea. Can you do it?"

   "I know a few permanent invisibe spells, spells that allow you to bring your body parts and shit back into view with a command, spells that allow you onto a different plane of existence, and spells that permanently get rid of a body part. Take your pick."

   "(Y/n), sweetheart, I know you heard that so number one, two, three or even four?" Dean's voice is soothing, and you lower your wing barricade so that the top of your head peeks out. You meet his green gaze cautiously. All this talk about your wings is putting you on edge, and he can tell. Trying to calm you, he rests a hand on the top arch of your wing, making you sigh in content. At least, he thinks content. Do peoples eyes go slightly dark with feelings when they're content?

   "Four is an immediate no. The same with one." You turn to Remy. "If I choose number two, will I be able to wear shirts normally?"

   She shakes her head. "Technically, your wings would still be there, and people could run into them or they could get stuck in a door." You shudder. That has happened before. "You want to be able to see them sometimes, right? And then put them away somewhere? If you want, I can whip up a customized spell." 

   Ticking on her fingers, Remy continues. "These would be the main attributes: nobody can touch, see, or hear them when they are set in another plane, but they are vulnerable to any attack on the individual plane. If the plane collapses, it'll take your wings with it. You will be able to remove them from that plane at will, bringing them into view of humans and any supernatural beings. They can also touch and hear them. As they will be a solid, they can also be harmed. This good with you?"

   You blink at the ginger witch, and feel a small smile tug at your lips. "Yes, yes, that's good."

   "Good. Now, get me twenty five souls, and the spell is yours."

   Your choke on your breath. "T-twenty five?!" Twenty five innocent, pure souls trapped with the witch.

   "Yes. For a spell this big, I'm gonna need 'em." 

   You grit your teeth, and feel hate bubble in your gut. Nails dig into your palms, and you feel your wings spread slightly, turning threatening. "Fine...I'll get your souls."

 

            ~Time Skip~

 

   You grimace as the last white shine trails into the mason jar in your hand. The glass is so bright, you had to borrow sunglasses just to glance at it. Dean and Sam had retreated to the Impala, brushing up on how to defend against witches of the spell went south. You can't see them, and they can't see you. It's very unsettling.

   You wrap the jar carefully in brown burlap, regret coursing through your veins at the sound of the anguished calls of the souls. You had apologized to them profusely, and hated that they couldn't be released. Stupid fucking witches.

   You thrust the jar into Remy's hand. "Here's your souls," you growl, the tops of your feathers rising angrily, much like the hackles on a dog. 

   "Great! One more thing-"

   She reaches out to your right wing, wraps her fingers around a feather, and _rips_.

   It feels like your wing was torn off. It feels like something crushed it, like you were hit by a dump truck, like you have been burned alive. You can't breathe due to the fire racing under your skin, grasping at your wing and clawing at the place she ripped the feather from. 

   You drop to the floor, whimpering and feeling the burn of tears in your eyes. Your wings wrap around your body as to protect it, but the stretch on the small spot of bare skin is excruciating. Your hands curl into the carpet on the floor, and you finally snap.

   Growling, you release the energy you absorbed from the ashes outside. It appears on the floor as black mist, turning darker and into something thicker, like fog. It seemingly curls off your wings like dry ice, and you send a murderous glare at the witch, your feather still in her hand. She shudders when the wisps brush her feet.

   You hear the shrivelling of a plant, and groan. Shit. Get it under control. Under. Control.

   You vaguely hear the door open, and realize that this mist can kill people. It can kill Sam. It can kill Dean...

   As quickly as it appeared, the fog disappears. You sit, crumpled on the floor, gasping with exertion and pain. You quiver, mostly in anger, while the witch just turns around and moves to a nearby table, the crushing of glass and herbs following.

   "Hey...hey, what's wrong?" Dean's hand lands on your left wing, and you whimper before flinging yourself into his arms. 

   Dean grunts, obviously not expecting the random attack, but he soon relaxes into it, wrapping a firm arm around your waist and stroking one hand down from your hair to your shoulder to the tops of your wings. It's extremely pleasant, and you focus on that instead of the pain. 

   You bury your face into his leather jacket, and whimper. "She ripped a feather out." Dean goes stiff, his petting hand jerking to a stop on your hair. You can feel the growl in his chest before you hear it. 

   "What?!"

   "Done!"

   Remy spins around, holding the mason jar that now holds twenty five black and red souls. You turn to look at it, and grimace as the souls cry out for release. Her eyes narrow in hate when she sees you and Dean's current position. 

   "Pour this on your wings. It'll be cold, then as soon as it turns hot, say a certain command, or do a motion. Like snapping your fingers or saying 'Appear!' Or shit like that. That's your code. When you want your wings to be tucked away, say or do that code, and they'll disappear. Say or do it again, and they'll reappear. Capiche?"

   Sam marches up and yanks the jar from the witch. "Got it. Just know that if this spell is anything but an invisible plane spell, we will hunt you down."

 

            ~Time Skip~

 

   You hold your breath nervously as you step out of the car. Sam is asleep, again, in the passenger seat, and Dean is holding the mason jar of souls. The empty field you found goes on for miles, no houses in sight. The sun is setting, the sky turning a mix of colours. 

   "Ready?" You look at Dean, who has his hand ready on the lid. You turn away from him, and spread your wings as far as they go. 

   "Don't forget that code word, alright sweetheart? If it hurts, let me know, and we can try to wash it off." The jugs of holy water beside you are already open, slightly reassuring. You nod, and hear the turn of the lid.

   A chilling dank drops on your wings, starting from the outer feathers and seeping down into your skin. You shudder, and the progression of the cold stop. "Does it hurt?!"

   You shake your head, and Dean hesitates, but continue pouring. Soon, your wings are completely covered, and you anxiously wait for the warmth Remy mentioned. Crickets in the background are ignored, and you glance up to see the sun dip below the horizon.

   Gasping, your wings start to burn, and you choke out the word. It's way hotter than you thought it would be.

   " _Celaverimus_...!"

   Instantly, the heat disappears. You feel refreshed, and oddly lighter. Dean makes a sort of choking sound behind you, and you turn around to look at him. Then you realize you can't see the tips of your feathers in the comers of your eyes.

   "Did it work...?"

   "...Yeah..."

   "You can't see them?"

   "No."

   You wrench your head so you can look over your shoulder, and see nothing but empty air. You wiggle your wings, but nothing happens. You can feel them, and if you look carefully enough, there's a little ripple in the space right behind you, like right over a fire. 

   You let a grin slip into your face, and look at Dean. You stop.

   He doesn't look happy. If anything, he looks sad. Disappointed. You feel the small smile deflate. Did he not want you  in public with him at all, and your wings were the only reason why?

   "D-Dean?"

   He meets your puppy dog eyes, so similar to Sam's, and rushes towards you. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

   "Do you not want me...to be able to sit in a restaurant with you?"

   Green eyes fill with confusion. "What-"

   "-Is that why you look sad?"

   Dean frowns, and sets his hands on your shoulders, making you stare into his orbs. "(Y/n). I think it's awesome that you can hide your wings somewhere, and that you can protect them and come out and eat with us. I'm honestly so happy about that. Sam will be too." You smile. "Let's get going, yeah?"

   You nod, and Dean releases your shoulders so that you can turn away from him and towards the Impala. Suddenly, arms wrap around your shoulders and neck, tugging you back into a solid chest. Dean's head floats over your shoulder, and you shiver when his lips touch your ear.

   "I _am_ sad that I can't touch them anymore, watch how they quiver and how they reach after me when I leave. You'll just have to show me when we're alone..."

   Dean walks by you, acting as though he never touched you. You, on the other hand, are flushed and buzzing. That low voice that sounded so rough...that solid front of his, pressed up where your wings would be...

   "I am so fucked..."


End file.
